A Normal Morning In The HQ
by aShTmEsK
Summary: Just a one-shot that I wrote in October. Light fluff: Skipper/Private and Rico/Kowalski. You have to squint to see it. Seriously. Anyway, enjoy, and R&R!


So this is my first PoM fanfic I've ever written, and I was a little apprehensive about posting it and all, but now I'm pretty confident in it. Enjoy!!! Oh yeah... and as for Kowalski's mini-rant on colors and their respective nanometers... I had absolutely _no_idea how to write that. Wikipedia - the source from which _most_ knowledge _usually _flows - was no help at all. But what he was trying to get across was the two shades of colors' differences, and well... that happened. XD

Oh, yes, and I own nothing except this story. The characters and everything are from the show and are owned by Dreamworks and Nickelodian. Sadly enough, but it's true. If I owned the penguins, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction... I'd be writing scrips for the show! :D

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**A Normal Morning In The HQ  
By aShT mEsK**

"Like this, Skippah?

"Just like that, soldier."

"May I flip anothah?"

"You can flip as many as you can eat."

"Oh, goodie!" The subordinate and the superior were in the small kitchen of the HQ, in front of one of the counters, an iron skillet on the heated burner and a blue, plastic bowl, pinstriped with a white line circling the perimeter of brim. Said bowl had been filled to the rim with doughy mush only moments prior.

It was high time, Skipper believed, for young Private to learn the ancient skill of pancake making. And in all truth, the second-shortest penguin was leading in this culinary exercise with the youngest of the four for another reason aside from Private's intellectual and gastronomical benefit.

"…Skippah? Why are you examining this so closely? It's just pancake mix!" Private said, measuring another cup-full of the beige, moderately lumpy goop before pouring it with an undeniable precision.

"I'm doing this, soldier, so that I can see what you mean when you put the 'love' into the flapjacks!" Skipper answered, his stare never leaving the heated skillet. His reply earned a small laugh from Private, who said in a reassuring voice,

"I don't put actual _love_ into my cooking, sir. Love isn't an object, sir, but it's really quite simple, you see-"

"We don't have time to go into one of your overly complex explanations of your so called 'love.' We have breakfast to make for an elite force containing four hungry penguins!" Skipper said, looking at Private only briefly before returning his sullen gaze back to the bowl.

"I… _suppose_you're right, sir…" Private said with a small sigh, flipping an additional one of the HQ-made pancakes onto its other side to cook. Yet another failed attempt at explaining one of his favorite subjects in life to one of his most looked-up-to of heroes.

Meanwhile, on the far side of the flightless birds' head quarters were the tallest members of the team. Kowalski was testing different markers on his miniature white board to see which ones where dried out as Rico regurgitated them up for him, one at a time, at the strategist's command. Two rapidly growing piles were between the two: one of old markers and the other of new.

"Yellow."

"Yewoe," Rico repeated as he brought the item up.

A light, squeaky sound of a marker making a mark on a board was made.

"Hmm… a bit too desiccated for my liking." Kowalski threw it to the side, coincidentally landing in the just the right the pile, "Moving on. Blue."

'Bwoo," Rico confirmed as Kowalski retrieved the marker from out of the air with one, quick flipper.

The same noise as before sounded as the strategist tested the blue marker. And, apparently this one had enough ink left in it to pass inspection.

"That'll do." Kowalski said, tossing it to be with the other coloring utensils, "Next… red."

"Whed." Said apparatus – namely Crayola – was immediately provided.

"Rico! That's maroon! Red is in the wavelength of roughly 630 to 740 nanometers! And maroon… ah… maroon is… well, its wavelength doesn't matter, I suppose. Might you have another shade of the color?" The weapon specialist looked thoughtful a moment, then seemed as if he had an idea, swallowed the colored maker, and brought up the correct one. "Aha!" Kowalski continued, triumph evident in his voice, "That's the one! Now to see as to whether it is dried out or not…"

"Breakfast time, boys!" Skipper called to them, with Private at his heals, carrying a plate on which his homemade pancakes had been staked high. The four teammates gathered at the table, and all but Rico managed to keep their tongues from hanging out the sides of their mouths at the sweet aroma of hot maple syrup and butter gave off. But before Skipper gave them leave to start in their devourings, the lead penguin nearly shot a full yard or two off of his seat when a voice from beside him said, in a melodramatic way that, oddly enough, sounded immensely bored,

"This morning is being too in the quietness…"

"Gah! Ringtail! How'd you-" Skipper stopped himself mid-sentence when he noticed the secret hatch that was hidden by Private's first prize was hanging wide open, with the shorter, darker furred of the lemurs awkwardly dropping down into the HQ. Maurice then walked up – looking a bit out of breath – to his more-than-slightly crazed leader, who had his head propped up with his grey paws, his slim elbows rested on the table between Rico and Skipper.

"Has it not been noticed by you? Something about this morning is not in the rightness!" Julien screamed at really no one in particular, raising his head from its improvised pedestal as he spoke.

"Umm… Julien, you have a little-" Private tried to tell the ring-tailed lemur, pointing a flipper towards his head.

"No-no! I do not wish to hear your words, un-flying smallish bird! What I do wish is to discover why there is something that is not right about the morning that is of today!" said the self-proclaimed king, then went back to contemplatively staring at the surface of the table, though he looked completely void of any real signs of thought.

Maurice was now at Julien's side, and said in his baritone voice, referring to the taller's crowned head,

"Ah, your Majesty, Private's right. I think-"

"I do not care who is right, silly Maurice! Something is feeling missing, and I am not able to put one of my most royal fingers on it!" And before he could rant on further, Skipper stood from the table, perfectly annoyed with being interrupted from the meal that was said to be the most important of the day, stalked over to stand behind Julien, and wrenched a brown, pigmy-sized lemur off of the "king's" overly-floral crown.

"I think I've found your problem," he mumbled, holding little Mort up by the nape of his neck in a flipper, the other three black-and-whites observing their leader's course of action. In his notes, Kowalski concluded that the bright-eyed mammal must have secretly attached himself to Julien's crown. Said crazed king took one look at the mouse lemur, grabbed him from Skipper's hold, and without another word or back-wards glance dragged Mort from the HQ, with Maurice following suit. As the lemur posse left, Mort declared, giggling the whole time,

"Heehee, since I knowed you it when I touch your feets, I thought I would ride on your _crown! _And it was so much fun! Can I ride on your crown again sometime soon?" The right-hand man – or, lemur, as it was – just rolled his eyes when, as he was being dragged across the cement floor and up the ladder, Mort's head bumping up and down as he chanted, "I _like_ crowns!" With that, the hatch in the roof of the underground hideout closed with a loud, metallic bang.

When, at last, the peace had been restored to the underground HQ, Skipper sat back down at the table with a small sigh, saying,

"Men… I know what I want for my birthday this year."

"What's that, Skippah?" Private inquired curiously, while Kowalski prepared himself to write down whatever it was his leader wished for. Rico just looked as if he were wondering why he had not been allowed to inhale his breakfast yet.

"A rapid watch dog, trained from birth to lemurs like bulls the color red-"

"Whed!" Rico declared, regurgitating the marker again only half way, so that it stuck up in the middle of the maniac penguin's throat. The medic merely rolled his eyes, reminding the world-class psychopath under his breath,

"That's _maroon_, Rico!"

"Whutevah!" Was his reply.

So as to answer in agreement to the leader's birthday wish with a salute from all 'round, Skipper, Private, Rico, and Kowalski were finally able to break the fast in peace. But not for long, of course, because, after all, they were at Central Park Zoo, where, unbeknownst to humans, was one of the least peaceful places in all New York.

Thend

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**A/N:**  
Love it? Don't love it? Whatever the case, review it! :DDD  
More to come later. I'm thinking about starting a few drabble series of Penguins, Professor Layton, perhaps Meet the Robinsons and a lot of other stuff. Stay tuned!


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